Kid Gloves
by sour gummies
Summary: There's a new serial killer in Blüdhaven, one who abducts homeless children from the streets and lovingly saws them to pieces. Billy Batson goes undercover to expose the murderer, but it slowly becomes obvious to everyone that he's done this before. Anon fic meme fill, warnings for extreme violence against children. NOW RATED M.
1. Prologue

a/n: anon fic meme fill, trigger warnings for implied (and later graphic) violence against children, along with other disturbing themes. when the time comes to bump up the rating, I will.

* * *

"Well, I'll give you one thing – this is awful," Wonder Woman said heavily, shoving the newspaper back to the center of the table. _HOMELESS BOY, 10, LATEST VICTIM IN STRING OF CHILD MURDERS, _the headline accused, front and center. Weighing on them like lead. "But I don't know what you expect us to do, Bruce. We're not exactly experts at tracking down serial killers on the streets." She gazed at him evenly. "I'm assuming you've already tried."

"I've investigated every criminal syndicate in Blüdhaven," Batman confirmed, eyes narrowed to slits behind his cowl. "No leads. The killer is acting alone, and no one seems to have any information on his identity or whereabouts."

Green Arrow hummed thoughtfully, staring down at his hands folded on the table. "We could dispatch a few League members on full-time watch," he offered halfheartedly. All of them knew it was merely a token suggestion – the League simply didn't have the numbers for that.

"Even if we tried, we'd stand out too much," Wonder Woman said after a moment. "I'm sure all the criminals in Blüdhaven are already on high alert, what with Batman snooping around, sniffing for clues. We go in, make a spectacle of it, and the killer vanishes into the woodwork until we give up and leave."

"And then he comes out from hiding. And the cycle begins anew," Martian Manhunter said, gravely.

They all sat quietly for a moment. The newspaper continued to sit heavily at the center of the table, demanding their attention every spare moment that went on without conversation. The boy on the front page smiled blithely out at them, a years-old picture relic that betrayed nothing of the gruesome truth: Scott Okum, ten years old, African-American, Indiana native. Abandoned by his mother in Blüdhaven, four months prior to the date of his death. Dismembered limb from limb; blood samples tested positive for extensive drug dosage. Identified only by his dental records.

"We would need a covert effort," Batman finally said. Superman looked at him sharply.

"You mean the Team," he accused.

"I do," Batman said.

Aquaman slammed both hands onto the table, scowling. "This is a criminal who preys on children!" he said, forcefully. "I will not send Kaldur'ahm into danger of this nature! Have you not _seen_ what that monster does to his victims?"

"I have," Batman said darkly.

Flash, sensing the rising tension in the room, held up his hands and motioned for the two of them to calm down. "Hey, chill," he said to Aquaman, quickly. "This sicko doesn't target teenagers. He goes for younger kids: nine, ten years old, tops. Even Robin would be well out of his usual range." He shuddered. "Thank god."

Wonder Woman spoke up next. "But that does beg the question: if we sent the Team in, what exactly would they be doing?" she asked cautiously. "They can't simply wander around Blüdhaven for weeks, searching for clues. And we can't well have them tail every homeless child in the city, waiting for the killer to strike."

"Maybe not _every _homeless child," Batman said levelly.

Wonder Woman narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "And just what do you mean by that?" she demanded.

"He means me," came a new voice from behind them. The assembled Justice League members turned around in unison, eyes widening as they recognized the speaker.

Ten-year-old Billy Batson stood in the nearby doorframe, scruffy in faded jeans and a threadbare sweater, holding a worn yellow backpack loosely in one arm. The boy looked unusually thin, as though he hadn't eaten in several days, and the faint hollowness in his cheeks made his large eyes all the more pronounced, blue and bright. His shoes were torn; hair disheveled and dirty, but carefully so. The overall effect was that of a battered, pitiable, but nonetheless _pretty_ child, with sharp angular features and something hard and unfamiliar lurking beneath his smile.

"...Captain Marvel," Wonder Woman said, caught by surprise.

Billy smiled wider, unsettlingly. "Can't catch a wolf without a rabbit," he said, calmly – and before him, the Justice League erupted at once into a chaos of furious shouting and argument.


	2. Sunday

a/n: chronologically, this fic takes place after "Agendas."

* * *

The debate raged for _hours._ Most members of the Justice League weren't exactly thrilled about the idea of sending a ten-year-old onto the streets to do their dirty work, especially undercover, without the power and knowledge of Captain Marvel immediately on-hand for backup.

But then – as Batman and several others repeatedly pointed out – the World's Mightiest Mortal would only be one word away during the entire operation. And the Blüdhaven police didn't have the best track record when it came to catching criminals: without outside forces at work, the murderer might go on to hunt down any number of homeless children before the month was out.

In the end, there was little the League could really do. Billy had already made up his mind, as he was only too happy to remind them whenever they actually remembered he was still in the room. He had every intention of going out to Blüdhaven to weed out the killer, with or without their help and support.

And that was certainly one child murder none of them wanted to have on their hands.

**."Sunday".**

The first signs were innocuous enough.

"He's...doing pretty well for himself," Zatanna muttered, watching Billy from her perch at the edge of the grimy rooftop.

She was on guard duty with Aqualad, both dressed in civilian clothes. Kaldur had his gills hidden with a scarf; which, considering the chilly weather, was a good clothing choice in any case. He'd had the idea to use his water-bearers to propel the two of them to the city rooftops for a better vantage point, so they could avoid blatantly stalking a ten-year-old through the seedier streets of Blüdhaven in broad daylight.

Kaldur considered her words for a moment then nodded. "You are correct," he said, pondering. "Billy has approached dozens of people today for information, homeless or otherwise. Most have been more than willing to speak with him."

"Do you think he's getting anything useful?" Zatanna mused, staring down below. Billy was chatting amicably with a group of local street kids, several of whom were dressed even more pitifully than he was. "I mean, I know he said he was committed to staying out here all night if he had to – but doesn't that seem dangerous? Like, _really_ dangerous? He could always just come back tomorrow."

Kaldur shrugged uneasily. "I cannot be certain of his intentions," he said.

—

They continued to wait and watch for the remainder of the afternoon, moving from rooftop to rooftop to keep an eye out for their charge. For the most part it was dull work. Billy kept wandering and interrogating the civilians he came across until dusk approached, grey light fading fast in the winter sky.

"Where's he going now?" Zatanna finally asked, pointing downward.

Kaldur adjusted his position on the roof to look. On the street, Billy was waving goodbye to a haggard-looking woman in rags outside the grocery store. As they watched, he rounded the next street corner and walked out across a large four-lane boulevard, approaching the beach.

"I suppose we should go down and find out," Kaldur said pragmatically, one hand reaching for Zatanna's arm while the other went for a water-bearer.

Trying not to look conspicuous, they headed below and ended up trailing Billy several hundred yards down the dingy beach, until finally he reached a wide boardwalk that led out to a nearby islet off the coast. Billy didn't try to cross it – instead he clambered down the sloping ground beside the boardwalk, and ducked into a narrow gap between the sand and the support beams under the bridge. He quickly disappeared from view.

Zatanna and Kaldur didn't fail to notice how he glanced around first, as if he were checking for danger nearby.

The two of them shared a bewildered glance, silently wondering in unison: where was he going? Did he have some kind of plan?

Ultimately, they shrugged and wordlessly agreed to continue following him. If Billy was acting on a possible lead, he might need backup in a confrontation.

They weren't prepared for what they found.

Under the boardwalk was a wholly separate world. The ground was buried beneath countless layers of cloth, tarp, and garbage; the walls were covered in dubious stains and graffiti tags. People milled about, subdued and looking utterly beaten-down, huddled in their own camps to sleep or wandering aimlessly through the makeshift settlement only for the sake of the movement itself. None of them spoke above murmurs in the shadows.

The smell was purely _awful, _choking out all other senses. Kaldur almost immediately had to retreat, stumbling back out the way he came, just to collapse, retching, on the filthy beach. He'd grown accustomed to many of the disturbing scents that came with life on the surface world, but nothing so far had compared even remotely to this. The smell beneath the bridge was almost worse to him than a physical assault.

Presently he collected himself, with Zatanna looking on, but Kaldur knew honestly that he wouldn't last long, if he tried to go back again. All he would accomplish was making an unnecessary scene out of his illness, and he couldn't risk endangering Billy's cover.

Zatanna, on the other hand, could force herself to manage the smell, as unpleasant as the prospect was. She exchanged a few quick words with Kaldur ( " – Yes, I promise, I'll be fine. I can call for you if something goes wrong, and you're not doing Billy any favors, if you go in and start throwing up all over the place in front of everyone. I can _handle_ this – " ) and then went in, resisting the urge to cover her face as she worked her way deeper into the tunnel. Ahead of her, Billy didn't seem at all bothered by the stench, cheerfully greeting people as he passed them and looking for all the world like he'd found his way home after a grueling day.

"How can you stand it?" Zatanna asked him quietly, once Billy had found a patch of ratty blankets and newspapers to call his own. She slid down the wall to sit beside him, instinctively moving closer out of uneasiness – this place frightened her, for her own sake and for Billy's. "The smell, the atmosphere...it's all so awful, and you don't even act like it bothers you."

Billy smiled at her. There was something strange about it, like he was holding back a hard world of truth, but his voice betrayed nothing out of the ordinary. "I don't mind," he said cheerfully, laughing at her incredulous expression. "No, really! I know it seems kind of unfriendly here, but there are worse places to be. Better than a shelter."

Something about that statement set off warning bells in Zatanna's mind. She pressed Billy for more, but he carefully dodged the questions with jokes and turnarounds, so after a while she let it go. They sat together in mostly peaceful silence until a telepathic voice called out to her from the beach outside: Martian Manhunter had arrived for the night watch. With most of the Team still in school until the winter holidays arrived, the Justice League was helping to fill in the gaps with volunteers.

"So...are you really going to sleep down here?" Zatanna asked worriedly, standing to leave.

Billy smiled up at her, looking completely unconcerned. "It's no big deal, Zatanna," he said.

And somehow, she got the feeling that he really meant it.


	3. Monday

a/n: a big thanks to everyone who reviewed! it means a lot to me as an author to read what people have to say. (this includes constructive criticism as well, so don't be shy to leave any.)

* * *

**."Monday".**

Monday dawned bitterly cold, with dirty snowflakes drifting down to slowly dust the beaches and wet the streets. Red Arrow, stepping up to his duties as a League member, arrived bright and early to relieve Martian Manhunter of the graveyard shift.

"He sleeps...peacefully," J'onn told him in passing, though he sounded uncharacteristically doubtful. "I spoke to Billy at length last night telepathically, about his plans for today. He intends to become somewhat more – _active, _in his efforts to draw out the killer."

Roy nodded, unconcerned. All that meant was that he needed to be more vigilant. "Thanks for the tip," he said curtly, nodding, and the other League member returned the gesture before leaving him alone on the boardwalk.

Roy wasn't alone for long, however.

"Don't you have class?" he demanded angrily about an hour later, as Artemis swung gracefully down from the high railing to sit beside him. Like Roy, she was dressed in civvies, some kind of preppy high school uniform coupled with a pair of last-minute dollar-store shades – but he'd recognize that bow on her back anywhere. "What are you doing here?"

"Some things are more important than class," she said shortly. Her legs dangled loosely off the boardwalk, although her shoulders were drawn up and tense. "I thought it couldn't hurt to have more than one set of eyes on the job today. I didn't know they were going to pick _you._"

Roy sighed angrily and looked out at the water. "If you want to come along, that's fine," he said, supremely annoyed. "I was meaning to keep an eye on you anyway. But I'm warning you – you had better not do anything to endanger the kid."

Artemis's eyes widened. Then they narrowed, and she abruptly stood up, her shaking hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Listen," she said, voice cracking in anger. "Maybe you don't trust me, Red Arrow. Whatever! I don't care. That's _your_ deal. But listen here: I would never do _anything _to hurt anyone on the Team, and the same goes for Bi– ...for Captain Marvel." She swallowed, looking at him resolutely behind her sunglasses. "You can believe what you want about me. But I care about them just as much as you do."

Red Arrow's frown deepened, scowling heavily. But he made no comment.

—

A few more hours passed in snow and silence. Only the bleak, lightless sun rising halfheartedly over their heads measured the time. Roy and Artemis took turns walking underneath the boardwalk to check on Billy as he slept, and presently he came out of his own accord, looking surprisingly refreshed for someone emerging from a night at a destitute homeless camp.

He spoke briefly to the archers about his plans for the day, and then set off – leaving the two of them to find a way to inconspicuously follow his path.

It worked out that Roy took to the streets, while Artemis scaled the roofs to watch from above. They were each far more at ease in their own element; and besides, it hardly hurt, the fact that this way they didn't actually have to talk...

Much.

"What's he doing?" Artemis muttered, sliding down a rusted fire escape to land beside Roy in a muddy alley. Across the street, Billy appeared to be examining something in a store window, which held group of mannequins in dresses that certainly weren't intended for the ten-year-old boy demographic. Artemis hadn't been sure what to make of it from her perch on the rooftop, but the ground view wasn't exactly enlightening either.

Roy pushed down his surge of annoyance at her presence and squinted in Billy's direction to get a better look. "I think he's looking at his reflection," he said shortly, terse. "But I have no idea why."

"Should we call him?" Artemis asked doubtfully, one hand going for the com-link in her ear. Billy had needed a way to keep in contact without using M'gann's telepathy, so they all had earpieces in case of an emergency.

"Not yet," Red Arrow said dismissively. "If he needs help, he'll let us know."

They kept watching. After a few more minutes, Billy reached down to the nearest patch of grass for a handful of snow, rubbing it over his skin until it melted. He repeated the process a few more times, wiping the dirt from his arms and face, then wormed a hand under his shirt to clean at his underarms. That done, Billy stared intently at his reflection in the window again and began to adjust himself in small ways – smoothing this or that bit of hair, untying one of his shoes halfway, tugging down the neckline of his ratty sweater to expose more skin.

"He's good at this," Artemis finally said, just to break the silence. Red Arrow wasn't the company she'd have asked for on this mission, but she didn't feel like being alone with her thoughts right now. Something about the display they were witnessing was unsettling in a way she couldn't really explain.

Roy only offered a noncommittal grunt in return. It was weird, to be sure; but then, everyone in the Justice League knew Captain Marvel was weird. If he wanted to do his own thing, Roy wasn't about to interfere.

—

They waited a bit longer for Billy to finish, then followed his progress through the city until he reached a nearby soup kitchen. Artemis would have stood out too much in her private school uniform, so Roy went in instead, fading into the background while the people around him slurped and chatted. The smell was noticeable here, but nothing, really, in comparison to the tunnel beneath the boardwalk.

As Roy watched, a homely young woman in an apron served Billy a watery plate of potatoes and some vaguely grey meat from the food line. Billy beamed up at her, and they quickly struck up an animated conversation Roy couldn't hear. The two of them laughed and chatted for a bit before Billy finally left to go find a seat. He looked completely comfortable in his surroundings.

Roy could tell he had done this before.

—

Billy left the soup kitchen an hour or so later, and the rest of the day passed unremarkably, with him wandering the city and talking to more people. Billy ran into a handful of threatening-looking strangers as the hours dragged on, most of whom seemed optimistic about the prospects of robbing a helpless-looking kid of whatever cash he might have. Red Arrow and Artemis efficiently dispatched all of the would-be muggers without any exchanging of words. They could cooperate on _that_ much, at least.

Green Lantern came to relieve the two of them at sundown, as Billy was returning to the boardwalk to rest. Red Arrow and Artemis said their good-byes quickly, thanking him, and then went their separate ways.

There was no killer in sight, but the two archers left the stakeout with dulled tempers and troubled thoughts. They'd spent a good part of the day arguing, but it still didn't escape their notice that Billy Batson wore homelessness like a second skin, playing the part with total ease of mind and action.

Just where had he learned to behave like that?


	4. Tuesday

a/n: for the reviewer who asked, I don't have any plans to include Billy's sister Mary in this story, although I might use her for different ones later. and as for whether or not the Team/Justice League knows and/or will find out about Billy's past...SPOILER REQUEST. NO COMMENT. :'D

* * *

**."Tuesday".**

Tuesday morning saw the arrival Black Canary and Green Arrow to Blüdhaven, along with five additional inches of bitter December snow.

"No problems, everything went fine," Green Lantern told them tiredly, stretching his limbs in the grey sunlight as the three League members emerged from beneath the boardwalk. Billy had returned there again to sleep on Monday night, although he'd hinted that he might try something different for the remainder of the week. "The kid's a natural at this. I'd honestly swear he's done it before, just by looking at him."

Dinah and Oliver glanced at one another, unsure of how to respond. "...Well, I just wanted to thank you again for doing this, John," Dinah said eventually, putting a hand lightly on his arm. "I know it's hard enough to find the time for ordinary League business as it is, without getting into the...extracurriculars."

He shrugged her off with a tired smile. "Don't mention it. As far as I'm concerned, you'd have to be heartless not to want to help. That's what we're here for, right?"

She smiled thinly back. "Yeah."

He eventually left them, leaving Dinah and Oliver to keep watch over the boardwalk. Billy, surprisingly, woke up about an hour after dawn, emerging shivering from the underpass with a cheerful smile and dark bags under his eyes.

"Are you _sure _you're all right, Billy?" Dinah asked, trying to hide the worry in her tone. "You know you don't have to do this. We can find another way."

Oliver smirked knowingly behind her.

"I'm fine," Billy said emphatically, grinning up at them. "Hey, though, before I forget – awkward question, but do you have a make-up kit, by any chance?"

Dinah and Oliver stared at him. "_What?_" they demanded in unison.

Billy had a good long laugh at their expressions.

—

"Concealer, Oliver!" Dinah shouted hours later, pacing endlessly back and forth in a muddy alley with her shaking fists clenched at her sides. "He was asking me for _concealer!_ How many ten-year-olds know what that even is? He's trying to make himself _attractive _for this maniac! This is getting completely out of hand!"

They were alone. Billy, in all his usual enthusiasm, had gone to scope out a local homeless shelter on a tip; for better or for worse this left Dinah and Oliver to hole up for cover in a nearby alley to discuss the morning's events.

"Dinah, calm down," Oliver said placatingly, stepping away from the brick wall to place both hands on her trembling shoulders. "The kid may not be Captain Marvel right now, but he's obviously smart. He knows what he's doing."

"That only makes this worse!" she snapped, voice high, but then stopped. She sighed deeply, refusing to let her temper get out of hand. "I don't like this," she said evenly. "I never liked this. The Team going on missions is one thing, but in this state Billy doesn't have any superpowers or special abilities. We're deliberately sending a child into an unsafe environment, and for what? To draw out a serial killer who preys on homeless kids? We're the _Justice League,_ Oliver. Is that how we do our business?"

"Come on, hon. You're sounding like Diana," Oliver said. Dinah opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "No, listen. _Nothing's _going to happen to Billy while we're on watch, okay? You know that. The kid said he got a tip about the shelter being safe from someone who works in the system. And we've got our own people watching his back twenty-four/seven. You don't think he's going to be safe?"

Dinah sighed and pulled away from him, looking out at the shelter with worried eyes. "It's not just that, Ollie," she said. "Something's not _right_ here. Haven't you noticed it? Billy's deliberately starving himself. He bought a jar of concealer from the drug store today to hide the bags under his eyes. The way he wears his clothes, the way he talks to strangers on the street – kids don't just _know _how to do things like that. He's done something like this before."

Behind her, Oliver frowned. "Maybe it's not just his age he's been hiding, then," he said.

Dinah didn't say anything. She'd speak to Billy after all this was over, of that she was absolutely certain; but for now, there was no real use in trying to dissect his behavior – however much it disturbed her.

And neither of them really wanted to voice the unspoken question hanging in the air.

An hour or so later, Billy emerged from the shelter, looking weary from a small mountain of paperwork but otherwise fine.

"Believe it not, that's actually normal," he said with a yawn, stretching his arms behind him to loosen the muscles in his shoulders. "Women's shelters are the worst. But at least they let me through the door; the men's won't take any kids. Makes it really hard for people who just want a place to sleep." He grinned up at them conspiratorially. "It actually would have taken me a lot longer, if the lady at the desk hadn't recognized me from the soup kitchen yesterday. She let me get through registration without taking a drug test!"

Neither Dinah nor Oliver really had much they could say to that_._

_—_

It turned out not to be the last time the topic of drugs came up for the day.

A few hours into the cold afternoon, Billy was busy scoping out a few seedy areas near the schoolyards, when a surly-looking teenager approached, holding a plastic bag full of blue crystals.

"I said I don't _want _any," Billy repeated loudly, backing away as the dealer bore down on him menacingly. "What's 'Blue Ice,' anyway?"

The teen grinned, black eyes gleaming. "Hottest new disease in town, little man," he drawled, holding the bag in front of him for Billy to see. "Makes you feel _real _good, I promise. How much did your parents give you for your allowance this week? I'll give you a good discount for the first hit."

"Didn't get anything from my parents this week," Billy said, lowly, and that's exactly when Green Arrow and Black Canary struck.

It was over in seconds.

"I'm sorry that took so long, Billy," Dinah told him a few minutes later, leading Billy away from the schoolyard while Green Arrow hauled the drug dealer off to the police station. "We had to change out of our civilian clothes before intervening, it's strictly League Protocol – "

"I know, I know, Batman drilled me on all that stuff too," Billy said patiently. "Nothing actually happened, though. I don't think that guy was going to do anything."

Dinah looked down at him sternly. "You could have transformed to protect yourself at any time, if you felt like you were in danger," she said seriously. "Nobody in the League would have blamed you."

"I know," he said confidently, and Dinah realized in that moment that the incident honestly hadn't bothered him at all. "Trust me, I know. If I had thought I was in _real _trouble, I'd have just said the word. Cap's great for dealing with lousy pushers."

Dinah could have asked. She probably should have.

But the sun was already setting over the brick roofs of the streets around them, and Billy looked tired enough for one afternoon, thin and shivering in his pitiful rags with his shoes ankle-deep in the snow.

"Let's get you back to the shelter, okay?" Dinah said soothingly, and Billy nodded, blue eyes far too old for his face.

Superboy and Miss Martian arrived half an hour later to take the next shift. If Black Canary was a little more forceful than normal while explaining their mission parameters, Green Arrow wisely decided not to comment.


	5. Wednesday

a/n: so it was a close call, but the Best Reviewer Award for Chapter 4 goes to the anon labeled 'IHaveAHangover,' because you are clearly a reader who understands my deepest thought processes.

also: short chapter for today, because I cannot write Conner to save my life. more coming soon!

* * *

**."Wednesday".**

_Superboy? Are you awake? _Miss Martian asked telepathically, a little after dawn Wednesday morning.

From the shelter rooftop, Superboy rolled his eyes, knowing (hoping) she couldn't see the gesture from inside. He was methodically turning over the box of shields from Luthor in his hands, although Conner knew full well this wasn't a mission where he'd ever need to use them. _Yeah, I'm still awake. What's up?_

M'gann, fully camouflaged to be invisible among the shelter residents and personnel, stood up quietly from where she'd been huddled against the wall. _It's almost time. I'm going to wake Billy up, _she said.

Superboy grunted noncommittally through the link in response.

(It _was _early.)

Unbothered by Conner's lack of enthusiasm, M'gann walked slowly over to Billy's cot and gently shook his arm, careful not to disturb the blankets.

_Billy? Time to get up, _she said gently through the mind-link.

Billy opened his eyes blearily and looked around, unable to see her cloaked form in the darkness. _...M'gann? Is that you? _he asked, sounding exhausted even mentally.

She smiled sympathetically. _Yes, i__t's me. Sorry to wake you, but Aqualad's going to be here in about fifteen minutes, and it's almost time for us to leave. Just wanted to let you know. You can go back to sleep now, if you want._ M'gann hesitated a moment, debating internally - she didn't want to seem patronizing, and unlike the rest of them, Billy was already a full Justice League member - but concern ultimately won out, and she continued. _Kaldur won't be able to come inside when he gets here, so don't be worried whenever you get up later, okay? He's got a com-link if you need to talk._

In his cot, Billy let out a slow shuddering breath and burrowed deeper beneath the sheets. He was shivering hard: by Earth standards, the shelter was uncomfortably cold. _Okay. Thanks for letting me know, Miss M. I'll look out for him when I leave._

M'gann hesitated, then sat down gingerly at the end of the cot. The makeshift bed wasn't big, but with Billy curled in on himself for warmth, there was plenty of extra room. _Are you okay? _she asked, trying not to sound pushy or annoying. It probably wasn't her place to ask, but he looked upset...

There was a long pause before Billy answered. _Yeah,_ he said, finally. _I'm okay._ _It's just been a long week. But I'm **going** to catch this guy._

M'gann slowly nodded, placing a hand on Billy's ankle over the blankets. _We all think you're really brave for doing this, Billy,_ she said. _It…can't be easy. Roughing it out here like this._

(She'd personally had to trip up a few attempted muggers trying to make off with Billy's backpack as he slept, just that night alone. It was probably an improper use of her powers, but M'gann couldn't quite bring herself to regret it. At all)

Billy tensed beneath the sheets. _This isn't roughing it,_ he said, then turned over onto his side so that M'gann couldn't see his face. _I mean – don't get me wrong, I don't **like** it. I don't like shelters. It's hard to keep track of stuff here without it getting stolen, and everyone assumes you're some kind of dropout or drug addict. I'm probably going to get lice if I stay here for more than a night._ He paused, breathing deeply and exhaling. _But this guy is killing kids who have nowhere else to go. He won't stop until someone makes him stop. Until **I** make him stop.  
_

M'gann hovered uncertainly on the cot. _Billy? _she asked.

There was another pause, and then Billy suddenly turned back over to face her, opening his eyes with a reassuring smile. _I think I'm going to go back to sleep, M'gann,_ he said, and whatever darkness had been in his words just moments ago was gone. _You should probably go outside and check on Superboy again. He doesn't like stakeouts very much, right?_

M'gann wavered, then nodded. She knew firsthand that it could be hard, to open up to someone else about your secrets. _That's right,_ she said reluctantly, standing, although she paused to adjust the sheets more securely around Billy's shoulders. _I'll see you again later this week, all right? Stay safe._

_Sure thing, _he answered sleepily.

Miss Martian, still invisible, quietly walked out through the nearest door, then slipped out of the shelter to meet Superboy and Aqualad on the roof. Something about Billy's answer made her feel uneasy and apprehensive, but now wasn't the time to dwell on it. She had to brief Kaldur on the mission for today, as well as any League members who decided to show up to help. And then right after that, she and Conner were headed off to school, lack of sleep notwithstanding.

Sometimes being a superhero wasn't quite as glamorous as TV made it seem.


	6. Intermission

a/n: and now for a friendly breather from all the angst! sort of.

(this chapter is dedicated to reviewer Solar Flare013, whose ideas for my updating schedule were inspiring...but ultimately unattainable.)

* * *

**."INTERMISSION".**

Wednesday afternoon was cold. _Billy _was cold, almost unbearably so, much as he hated to admit it.

He'd tried going outside for a few hours in the late morning, looking for new leads, but he didn't last long, poorly dressed for the weather as he was. Billy's League-sanctioned guard for the day, Aqualad and Captain Atom (traveling the city as Nathaniel Adams, of course) had more or less forcibly marched him back to the shelter, after Billy's legs had threatened to collapse underneath him walking near the Midtown Exchange.

(_"No, really, I'm fine, you guys," _Billy said deliriously, hardly conscious of where they were even going through the muddy streets. He was leaning heavily on Kaldur as he walked, but totally not because he was having trouble staying upright. No way._ "When I can transform again, this won't even be a problem. You know, it's weird, but, it never gets this cold in Fawcett City? Like, never?"_)

Back at the shelter, with most of a bland-tasting meal settling decently in his stomach, Billy had to admit he felt better. It was a bit warmer in here than outside, even if the provided blankets were a prime target for parasites.

It was just, being in here didn't put him any closer to finding the killer.

"Hey again, Junior!" came a friendly voice suddenly from across the table.

Sluggishly, Billy looked up. The woman was one of the shelter volunteers – the same one who'd registered him yesterday, who had taken pity on Billy and let him through without a drug test. Her lank red hair was pulled into a net at the back of her head, evidence that she'd been working in the lunch line recently. In her hands she held a plate of the tasteless casserole-and-carrots combination that Billy had forced down himself about an hour ago.

"Mind if I sit here?" she asked with a smile, already stepping over the bench and putting her plate down across from him.

Billy returned the smile, glad to see a friendly familiar face. Aqualad and Captain Atom were both close by, waiting on the outside, but it wouldn't be smart for either of them to follow him into the shelter. They'd stand out like sore thumbs among the folks in here.

"Sure thing, Ms. Merkel," Billy answered. "Guess I'm getting pretty popular, huh?"

"Oh, I told you before, none of that 'Ms. Merkel' nonsense," she said, taking a big bite of her carrots. She chewed contemplatively for a moment and swallowed before speaking again. "It's just 'Alex.' You don't have to treat me like another grown-up in here."

"Well, okay. If you're really sure," Billy said, absentmindedly pushing his own cold vegetables around on his plate. He wondered where the killer was now. He wondered if he was looking for another victim.

"Something the matter, Junior?" Alex asked inquiringly, sounding concerned.

Billy looked up at her. Alex Merkel wasn't an attractive woman, although she might have been, once: her eyes, sunken-in and hollowed, were a bright, piercing blue; the pale scars crisscrossing over the lower half of her face hid high cheekbones and fair skin. Her dark clothes were mottled and plain, and she walked with a noticeable limp, favoring her right side.

But none of that mattered to Billy in the slightest. Alex was kind to him. In his experience with homeless shelters, few people were.

Billy suppressed a sigh and rearranged his face into what he hoped would pass for a smile. "Not really," he lied, his fork stilling on the paper plate in front of him. "Just...you know. That murderer running around, picking off kids? Kind of makes a guy worry."

Alex's eyes widened, horrified. "Oh, please don't talk about that here, Billy," she said, sounding pained. She glanced up and down the table around them. "You'll only scare the other kids, with those awful stories. That's the last thing anyone needs right now."

Billy winced. She had a point. "Okay. I won't," he told her, standing with his half-eaten plate. Losing the weight he needed to play the part of the homeless orphan again had been startlingly easy – every time he even _tried _to eat, the faces of the killer's latest victims would swim to the front of his mind. Especially Scott Okum's dead eyes, staring out at him accusingly from the newspaper. Every time he thought about quitting, about giving up and going home to Uncle Dudley...the memory of that face stopped him cold.

"I think I'm going to go try and talk around with a few new people," Billy said with a weary half-smile. "Guess I'll see you later, Alex."

She smiled uneasily at him in turn, blue eyes so bright that they seemed like they might crack in her face. Everyone here was a little damaged, he knew. That was how shelters were.

"Sure thing, Junior," Alex said, trying and failing to sound cheerful. She lowered her voice and leaned in a bit toward him. "Just...be careful, okay? It might not be such a good idea, if a lot of people start remembering your face."

Billy nodded reluctantly – she was right, of course, places like this were dangerous for kids who were alone – and left the table. He shivered again from cold as he threw the remainder of his lunch away uneaten. It was wrong to waste food, he reflected guiltily, moving toward the nearest cluster of people in the mess hall. But how could he eat?

The anxiety of his failing mission was weighing down on him like a ball of lead. Four days in, and still no sign of the killer. The Justice League, the Team – everyone had been treating him strangely all week. Was it because he was no closer to finding his target than before? Because he hadn't had any success?

But Billy _would_ find him, he reminded himself stubbornly, plastering on a forced (not false) grin as he neared his next potential group of interviewees. He would not quit, or give up trying. He absolutely _would _find his target.

He had to. He had to make sure that no other children found their way into the hands of this maniac, this monster, who would pick them off the streets and leave their chopped-up remains lying in alley garbage bags.

**END**  
**."INTERMISSION".**


	7. Thursday

a/n: wow, a lot of you seem to think that Alex is the killer, even though she's clearly just a Nice Lady. after all, she works at a soup kitchen AND a homeless shelter! she's also a preexisting DC character, in case any of you were curious.

* * *

**."Thursday".**

Wednesday night saw the heavy layers of snow on Blüdhaven's streets freeze to ice. At sundown, Aqualad and Captain Atom turned over the night shift to Artemis and Zatanna, and the two of them huddled for warmth on the rooftops nearest to the shelter throughout the night, periodically checking on Billy through their com-links whenever he could get a moment alone.

Billy, tired and cold even inside, resignedly agreed to another night's sleep at the shelter without complaint.

But waking up Thursday morning changed everything.

"Another one?" Artemis asked, horrified, her voice cracking. "There's been _another _one?"

"I'm afraid so," Wonder Woman said, handing over that morning's newspaper so they could read it. Like Artemis and Zatanna, Diana was dressed in civilian clothes for stealth, but her countenance was every bit as fierce even without her iconic uniform. "Catalina Flores, Age 8. Found yesterday afternoon in a dumpster near Island Avenue, completely dismembered from the neck down."

"That's – That's awful," Zatanna said, bowing her head. "She was so young..."

"I'll say," came another subdued voice from their right. The three of them looked over to see Robin perched at the edge of the rooftop, posture tense and unhappy. He too wore his normal civilian clothes, including sunglasses, despite the total lack of sunlight in the cloudy winter morning.

"...Robin," Wonder Woman said after a moment. "So he sent you after all."

He nodded. "Batman couldn't come, but my school's already out for the holidays. And I still haven't taken a shift out here."

Diana's lip twitched upward the tiniest bit. "I can understand why Batman might be busy this time of year," she said politely. "There _are _many...'societal functions,' accompanying the holiday season." Her face quickly hardened again. "But let's get down to business. Someone needs to tell Billy about this latest murder – for his own safety."

"I think he already knows," Zatanna said, peering out over the edge of the roof.

They all gathered over to check. Below them, Billy was walking out of the shelter entrance, posture tense and anxious. There was a copy of the morning's newspaper tucked under his arm. He shivered, clearly freezing, but didn't bother looking around for any of them before taking off down the street.

"He wasn't even going to check in with us?" Artemis asked, dumbfounded.

"He's probably got a lot on his mind right now," Robin said darkly, one hand going to the com-piece in his ear. "Hang tight, I'll contact him. ...Billy? _Billy_, come in..."

—

One quick call later, the day's plans were settled, and Artemis and Zatanna took their leave – Zatanna for school, Artemis to catch up on her sleep. Diana and Robin stayed to keep watch on Billy, and the two of them agreed not to interfere with his planned route, if he in turn agreed to buy a cheap jacket to wear over his sweater.

"Can't stop any bad guys if you're dying of hypothermia," Robin pointed out to Billy, shrugging.

Billy reluctantly tugged on the thrift store coat, easily three sizes too big for him, and started buttoning it from the top down. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he said impatiently. Diana watched him curiously.

"There _are _other stores in the area we could have visited," she said. "Both Robin and I have more than enough money to buy you something that actually fits."

Billy half-grinned up at her, still busy buttoning the jacket. "Oh, Batman already gave me a budget for the mission," he said matter-of-factly. "That's not the point, though. If I wear new clothes out on the street, nobody's going to believe that I'm really homeless." He rolled his eyes. "Even if most homeless kids don't _actually _walk around in rags."

Robin frowned. "Yeah?"

"Nah, that'd be dumb," Billy continued, not noticing Diana and Robin's uneasy looks. "It's way smarter just to buy a bunch of the same shirt in bulk at a superstore, or something like that. Looks kind of weird wearing the same thing every day, but then the cops will leave you alone when you try to walk around town." He paused a moment, lifting his arms experimentally in the oversized jacket. "A lot of those people who stand on street corners with signs and stuff, who look _really _gross, they do it on purpose so that people will give them more money. Or so creeps won't try to pick them up."

"You know a lot about this," Diana finally said evenly.

Billy looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow. "I guess so?" he said, sounding like he didn't know why it would be worth pointing out.

Robin could have asked. But Billy looked more than ready to leave, impatiently glancing between the two of them, back and forth. Now wasn't the time to pry, and Dick sensed Wonder Woman knew it as well.

"Lead on, Captain," he told Billy instead, pulling out his grappling hook with a glance toward the nearest rooftop.

—

Thrift store jacket or no, Billy walked around the city for hours – _hours _– and found nothing, save one or two verbally abusive police officers (apparently, standard fare in Blüdhaven, especially to the homeless) and a handful of leery, run-of-the mill degenerates who mercifully backed off and went their own separate ways without having to be told more than once.

"I can hang back and take care of them, if you wanted to keep following Billy," Robin said with a quiet sort of anger, reaching for a batarang.

"_No,_" Diana said, glaring sharply at him. "Stay with me."

Robin frowned, pouting, but followed without complaint as she leapt out over to the next rooftop.

—

By the time the three of them returned to the shelter that afternoon, they were all in low spirits. Billy could only manage a thin half-smile and a thumbs-up before disappearing inside, presumably to get a blanket and something to eat.

On the rooftop across the street, Robin sighed.

"Just a few more hours," Wonder Woman told him quietly. He shook his head in response.

"It's not that," he said slowly. "It's – I don't know, everything." He frowned. "I thought it was really cool at first, you know, that Billy was doing this. Volunteering to help stop this creep. But now I'm kind of wondering if it's a good idea after all."

"Because of his age?" Diana asked.

"No, it's not that. That is, not completely," Robin said slowly, taking a deep breath and then exhaling it. "I think kids should be able to help fight criminals. The way I did. And besides, Billy can always just transform into Captain Marvel if something goes wrong. It's not like he's really in danger."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Diana said, neutrally. "But go on."

"It's just this _place,_" Robin said, emphatically, shuddering a bit from the cold. "I always grew up, thinking, Gotham City was the worst that humanity had to offer. I've seen more crimes happen there than most people would ever know about in their lifetime. But now...now I'm not sure anymore. At least in Gotham, the Police Commissioner actually _cares_." He paused, hunching over a bit where he sat. "Someone needs to give a damn about this place, Diana. I think – if I ever were to leave Gotham for some reason, and maybe go to fight crime in another city – it would definitely be here."

"Then let us hope that day comes a long time from now," Wonder Woman said softly, her eyes fixed westward on the setting sun.

They didn't speak again until Martian Manhunter and Green Lantern arrived for the night watch.


	8. Friday

a/n: a lot of you have been asking for more action. so here - have another chapter of plotless introspection instead! I am generous like that.

maybe something interesting will happen in the chapter after this one. _maybe_.

* * *

**."Friday".**

Friday evening brought sleet, ugly and colorless, to the streets of Blüdhaven – along with Central City's resident teenage hero, Kid Flash. The Flash, Barry Allen, had intended to go along as well, but unfortunately he found himself waylaid by a surprise prison break on his home turf late that afternoon.

Reluctantly, Barry sent Kid Flash on ahead to Blüdhaven alone, to relieve a tired Miss Martian and Black Canary from daytime watch duties over (the civilian) Captain Marvel. The somber reality went unspoken: at the end of nearly a full week undercover, Billy Batson had still found no solid leads on the killer's whereabouts or identity. And, in the meantime, another child had died.

Those thoughts made the already-bitter evening even colder.

"Just where have you _been?_" Wally demanded, glancing up and down the slush-soaked alley to make sure they were really alone.

It was dark. It was cold. Billy Batson didn't have the Stamina of Atlas, or the Speed of Mercury. He was ten; and, furthermore, he was tired. When he'd tried to run, he hadn't gotten very far, and Kid Flash had found him in minutes.

But he had still tried.

"Look, I don't know how much you picked up on when we all went to India, but 'covert operation' doesn't mean you get to just _disappear_ like that, dude," Wally said indignantly. "How am I supposed to keep an eye out for you if you just up and _leave _the shelter without a word, and ignore your com-link when I try to call you?"

Billy, huddled with his arms around his knees and his back against the alley wall, didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on a soggy newspaper sprawled out on the ground in front of him. "Sorry," he said dully, not looking up.

"'Sorry'? Is that all you have to say?" Wally snapped. "For all I knew, you could have been kidnapped! Or worse. You _know_ what's waiting out there. What am I supposed to tell Batman if you just disappear?"

"There's a tracer on my clothes," Billy said tonelessly, fingering a small disc on the side of his left shoe. His eyes were still on the newspaper. "If something were to happen to me, even if I couldn't transform, Batman would know where to look. We already planned for something like that."

Wally wavered, teetering on the brink of shouting, then gave up with a long sigh. Without the cape and the muscles, it was easy for him to forget that Billy was already a full-time Justice League member.

"Look, Billy. _Captain," _Wally said, trying to be patient. "I don't know what's going on with you, but if you're having trouble with this mission – if you can't do this, it's still okay to back out. It really is. You did your best, but this guy's not taking the bait. If it bothers you so much to stay at the shelter, why not just go home? I'm sure your family must be worried sick about you by now."

Billy sucked in a quick breath at the words. Wally wondered immediately if he'd said something wrong – family could be a tricky subject.

But then Billy relaxed again, shoulders slumping, and quietly he finally began to speak.

"...He was my friend," he said slowly, voice cracking.

Wally blinked. "Your friend?"

"Scott Okum," Billy said softly, staring down at the newspaper: _HOMELESS BOY, 10, LATEST VICTIM IN STRING OF CHILD MURDERS,_ the weeks-old headline blared. "He was my friend. Or he used to be, at least. Back when he lived in Fawcett City. He and his mom moved out to Blüdhaven two years ago." Billy paused, swallowing hard. "She was – she was mean, but I didn't think she'd actually _abandon _him. On the streets."

"Oh. _Oh._" Wally felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. "That's – _geez. _I'm sorry, kid. I'm so sorry."

Billy didn't say anything for a long time after that.

"...I don't want to go back to the shelter tonight, Wally," he finally murmured, looking up at Kid Flash with a pained expression. Wally felt something sharp hollowing in his chest, and Billy continued, rambling, "It's been so cold out here all week, you know? And it just – it makes me think – I mean, it never gets this cold in Indiana." Billy swallowed again, trembling. "And, it's like, _hello_, Billy – how cold do you think _Scott_ must have been when he died? What right do _I_ have to complain?"

Wally shook his head. "No," he said forcefully, reaching out for Billy's hand. Halfheartedly, Billy took it, and Wally pulled him up to a standing position. "This isn't your fault, Billy," Wally continued firmly. "None of this is your fault. And I've seen the police reports. Scott Okum was so drugged up on Blue Ice that he probably couldn't feel a thing, by the end of it."

"I know that. And I know – I _know_ it's not my fault. That doesn't make it okay," Billy said softly. But he obediently fell into step behind Kid Flash as he led him out of the alley. "I _can't _go back home yet, Wally. I have to stay out here to help. It wouldn't be right to go back. Not until I find this creep. Not until I fix this."

"You won't fix anything by freezing yourself to death out here," Wally said quietly, slinging an arm around Billy's shoulders as they walked back out into the street. "Come on – let's get you back to the shelter for the night, at least. You'll be safer there."

—

Let the record stand clear: what happened thereafter was not the fault of Wally West.


	9. Nightmare, Part I

a/n: and now we are up to an **M-rating**. kidnapping, graphic violence and _a lot of fucked-up shit_ ahead, kids.

* * *

_Begin._

** . " NIGHTMARE " .  
**

It wasn't his fault. He couldn't have known.

At 8.34 PM Friday evening, Kid Flash led Billy Batson back from the cold streets to the Blüdhaven East Women's Shelter. Wally saw to it that Billy safely entered, and even (responsibly) checked their com-link for a reliable connection before seeking out a good vantage point to camp out for the night.

Wally did everything right.

He couldn't have known to be on alert, when several of the shelter volunteers returned from a late grocery-store run at 11.12 PM. He couldn't have known to pay attention, when they began unloading boxes of supplies from their cars to restock the shelter pantry.

He couldn't have known to be suspicious half an hour later, when he saw one woman take a seemingly empty wooden crate back to her car after the others had left to go home.

It could have happened differently. That's not the point.

If Kid Flash were Superboy, he might have heard the muffled screams coming from inside the box, as the woman loaded it into the back of her sedan.

If Kid Flash were Miss Martian, he might have noticed the sharp signals of terror and distress coming off the crate in waves, without the need for a com-link alert.

If Kid Flash were Robin, he might have noticed the woman's posture, the subtle way she had glanced warily both ways about the lot, just before she loaded the large crate into her car.

But he wasn't them. Kid Flash was Wally West.

Wally couldn't have known that Billy's earpiece had fallen out an hour ago, by accident, while he was sleeping.

Wally couldn't have known that Billy Batson had taken off his shoes – and the tracer on them – before going to bed that night.

Wally couldn't have known. It wasn't his fault.

(_"That doesn't make it okay," Billy had said to him in the freezing alley._)

—

Miles away from the shelter, trapped and alone, Billy was trying to make himself calm down.

_Don't freak out, Batson,_ he thought forcefully to himself, heart racing in the darkness. He could feel the car moving around him, lurching at every turn, but he had no idea where it was headed. _Don't panic. Just think. Think! You can do this. There's **always** a way out, right?  
_

It was all he could do, to stave off the growing terror threatening to engulf him like a tidal wave. He had to settle for _thinking_ the words as strongly as he could, because he couldn't say them out loud to calm himself, not with an immovable strip of duct tape sealing his mouth shut. Billy had been sleeping when the attacker struck, gagging him and shoving him unceremoniously into a box or crate of some kind, one too sturdy for him to push or kick his way out of. He was trapped, and helpless: try as he might, he could not say the _one word _he needed to escape.

And it was terrifying. This was _terrifying. _But Billy wasn't going to give up.

_So what if I'm stuck now,_ he shakily reminded himself, determinedly blinking back tears. He refused to cry. It wouldn't help anything, and he needed to keep his wits about him, now more than ever. _At least this means I found the killer, right? I did what I was trying to do._

The thought was simple, but it was enough to solidify his resolve. Billy knew he had to stop the murderer, and that was all there was to it.

Breathing as deeply as he could through his nose – another good reason not to freak out; it was hard enough getting oxygen in this cramped box without wasting air on tears – he steeled himself and concentrated, trying to mentally assemble all the information he had to work with so far.

The kidnapper had moved so quickly that Billy hadn't even seen his face. He knew the guy was strong – Billy had fought off the assailant as hard as he could, half-conscious and panicked; yet, he hadn't even lasted five seconds in the struggle. And once Billy was actually _in _the crate, thrashing and screaming in vain, the kidnapper seemed to have no problems carrying it himself, without the use of a tow or a dolly.

At the moment, Billy guessed they were probably in a moving car. The crate kept jerking around unsteadily, tilting in different directions and making him nauseous in the closed space. There was no point trying to scream here – assuming he could even make enough sound behind his gag. No one would hear him cry out for help.

_Don't think about that,_ Billy told himself sternly, trying to breathe. It wasn't easy: the interior of the box was suffocating and airless, not to mention completely dark. _Come on, Batson. Focus! What else do you know?_

Well, for starters, the attacker hadn't bothered to bind his arms or legs in any way. Billy's limbs were jammed so tightly into the crate that making a serious escape attempt would have been impossible. His hands and feet were falling asleep even now, prickling in agony whenever the car lurched one way or another. But maybe, when the box opened again, he could somehow take the killer by surprise.

Billy understood that his only chance at overpowering the attacker was to somehow get rid of the duct tape covering his mouth, so he could transform. He knew, from experience, that he was just too small and weak on his own, to fight off a fully-grown adult without any help.

The fact that no one had come to his rescue yet meant that Kid Flash probably didn't know anything was amiss, even now. And why should he? All he would have seen was some guy walking out of the homeless shelter, holding a box.

With growing dread, Billy realized that both his com-link and his shoes, with the League's tracer on them, were still waiting uselessly back at his tiny cot at the shelter. Until the morning arrived, there was no way for anyone to know he was even gone.

And, once the others realized it, what then? How would they find him? _He hadn't left any clues –_

Billy caught himself panicking and clamped down viciously on his traitorous thoughts, cutting off the spike of fear before it could spiral out of control. He _wasn't_ going to freak out. He wasn't! Billy Batson was stronger than that. He was _Captain Marvel. _A member of the Justice League. A hero.

And, right now, he needed to keep his head clear in order to stay alive. That's what he was going to do.

So, Billy waited – patiently, limbs aching, breathing even; prepared as he ever would be to face the impending greatest horror of his life.


	10. Nightmare, Part II

a/n: so yeah I sort of disappeared there for a while, my apologies. very busy semester. I have to write a lot for class and it's cutting into the time in which I could normally be working on writing/polishing fanfic things.

but hark! angst and violence! _heed the trigger warnings for what lies ahead. _again, this story is now rated **M**.

* * *

It could have been half an hour later, or an hour, or several hours, before the constant shaking and swerving going on all around Billy mercifully stopped. Sealed off in a closed space, away from any source of light, Billy had no way of gauging the time.

But, finally, the car stilled, and the sounds of the engine cut off. Weak with relief, Billy closed his eyes and simply breathed, giving silent thanks that he had managed not to throw up during the rough trip. The last thing he needed was to choke to death behind his gag before he ever got a chance to see the killer's face.

There was still one more bumpy ride to endure. Billy heard a car door opening from outside his cramped prison, and then the world abruptly tilted sideways. He hit his head painfully on the side of the crate, letting out a muffled cry of pain, and his sore limbs erupted into a flare of pins and needles. Presumably, the killer was carting him off to wherever he planned to commit his latest murder.

Billy had to fight down hysteria at the thought. _C'mon, Batson, don't lose it now!_ he screamed mentally at himself. He WAS going make it through this. Captain Marvel would never freak out like a little kid! _Remember, there's still time. There's still time, there's still time, there's still time..._

Eventually, he felt one last heavy jolt as the crate hit the ground, hard – and then stillness. Heart hammering, Billy waited, hardly daring to breathe. There was no point trying to calm himself now; it was hard enough just to avoid a full-on panic attack. Whatever happened next would determine whether he lived or died.

Slowly, the top of the crate lifted away, and Billy had to screw his eyes shut involuntarily against the sudden, painful influx of light. After being shut away in darkness for so long, the brightness was unbearable_. _

He was so disoriented that he didn't immediately see the arms reaching out to grab him, and he didn't have the leverage to move anyway. Someone seized him by the underarms and forcibly yanked him out of the crate without warning, bringing a hard rush of searing pain to his limbs that drove all thoughts of escape from his mind. Billy's eyes flew open, unseeing, and he let out a muffled scream behind his gag. The muscles in his arms and legs felt like hard knots of agony, cramped and tense, and the sudden rush of circulation from having them stretched out again was more terrible than any pain he knew could exist.

As soon as the hands released him, Billy collapsed to the ground with a harsh cry, unable to support his own weight. The sound didn't make it far past the duct tape covering his mouth.

"I bet that hurts," someone said calmly from above him. The speaker's voice was compassionless. Utterly unfeeling. "Doesn't it, Junior?"

Forgetting the awful brightness, the pain in his limbs, Billy's head jerked upward at once, eyes wide. That voice –

But before he could get a clear look at the killer, a gnarled hand shot out toward Billy's face. The blow caught him on the right side of the head, with enough force to send him sprawling helplessly down to the ground with another muffled scream. Struggling to breathe through his panic, he registered, belatedly, that the floor his face was pressed against was brown carpeted. They were inside.

His head swam. Billy weakly reached for his swelling eye with one twitching hand and groaned behind the duct tape. He was going to have a black eye from this, he could tell.

Wait, what was he _thinking?_ The reality of Billy's situation suddenly hit him like another slap to the face. He didn't have time to worry about something like that! He needed to escape!

Head clearing fast, Billy realized he had to put some distance between himself and the killer, _now, _if he didn't want to die. Moving by instinct, Billy quickly rolled over on his side and lurched up again on aching limbs, attempting to get his elbows and knees steady beneath him. His muscles screamed in protest and he ignored them, scrambling to get himself up and moving despite the fact that his legs felt like they were made of meat. _Get rid of the gag,_ he thought feverishly to himself. His shaking fingers scrambled clumsily at the edges of the tape, as useless and uncoordinated as his feet. _Just get rid of the gag and you can _say_ it –_

But then there was a tall, merciless figure looming over him, and Billy found himself harshly kicked back down to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Coughing and hacking uselessly behind his gag, Billy was too disoriented to fight back as the attacker seized his arms from behind and dragged him up to his knees. One large hand held both of his thin wrists together behind his back, with a grip that was strong enough to bruise. Billy struggled fiercely to get away, twisting in the hopes that he might get a solid glimpse of the killer, but then another hand reached for his face and calloused fingers were fumbling at the corners of the tape on his mouth.

The attacker ripped the gag away so quickly that it tore away some of the skin on Billy's lips. He cried out in shock, instinctively trying to free his hands to reach for his bloodied mouth, but the killer didn't hesitate. Just as Billy had collected his wits and opened his mouth again to say the word that would summon Captain Marvel, his attacker kicked him, hard, from behind. Billy was slammed forward to the ground again. Bile rose in his throat, his world filling with pain and blackened spots.

With his face pressed into the carpet on the floor, Billy grunted in pain, his vision swimming. He struggled, with every ounce of willpower he could muster, to fight off the threat of impending unconsciousness. He couldn't afford to black out now. Not when he was so close!

Then he registered a hard, crushing grip on his upper arm. The attacker forcefully wrenched Billy backward on the carpet, jerking his arm up to expose the pale underside. He gasped for air, pain and fear combined nearly making him pass out.

And in that moment, there was so _much _pain, in Billy's head and the rest of his body, that he almost didn't feel the sharp sting of a needle being jabbed into the vein of his right arm. But he did feel it. And even without knowing what was in the syringe, he knew exactly what it meant: that he was almost out of time.

"Sha, SHAZA– " he started to scream, thrashing away from the arms holding him so that his back was no longer to his attacker. He was nearly free. This was his chance.

But then, the saving word died suddenly on his lips: he'd finally twisted enough to reach an angle where he could see the killer's face.

"Hi, Billy," Alex Merkel told him pleasantly, her scarred face eerily calm and businesslike. "Did you sleep well?"

Static roared in Billy's ears. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

"It was _you,_" he whispered, uncomprehendingly, eyes wide in disbelief and betrayal. "_You're_ the one who killed Scott!"

"Oh, I've killed a lot of people, Junior," she said, softly, never blinking, never moving her bright blue eyes away from his.

And Billy opened his mouth again, to ask: _why, why would you do this, you were my friend, how could you_.

But at that moment, the drug hit him, like a cold gunshot in his blood, and talking was suddenly impossible over the sound of his own hysteric screams.

He'd wasted his last chance on the wrong words.


	11. Nightmare, Part III

a/n: I'm not dead! got some lovely reviews this last round; thanks you guys. c: and for your reward...PURPLE PROSE.

* * *

Billy writhed on the ground, reduced to fits, to absolute hysterics. Distantly, he could hear himself screaming, but somehow couldn't _feel_ the sounds tearing out of his own throat. He was too utterly lost in the sharp, bright ice filling his veins, blossoming into hurricanes, roaring beneath his skin. His heart was racing, harder than it had been even when he was trapped in the crate. The drug was like a blizzard inside him: the feeling went beyond adrenaline, beyond caffeine, beyond the cold certainty of death or the terror of nightmares. He was falling and flying and drowning in a vat of electric ice and he was so _afraid _he thought he might die of it, like his heart would just burst to shreds from the strain.

The sensation was so intense that it took Billy almost a minute and a half of horrified thrashing and screaming to realize that he wasn't actually in pain. In fact – if he weren't so frightened and desperate, so panicked at the unfamiliar terror of being lost in his own skin...it might have actually felt _good._

The drug kicked his blood into pure **energy, **all the energy in the world. It was like being fired out of a canon, or jumping off a hundred-story rooftop to plummet down toward the hard asphalt waiting below, just to prove you could. The only thing that could possibly compare to it in all the world was the sensation of being struck by lighting.

But that sensation was so, so far away...

A sudden feeling of lighthearted euphoria bubbled up from Billy's chest and raced out along his livewire nerves, turning his skin into something maddeningly tactile, sensitive everywhere. His eyes flew open and he screamed again, this time in shock, but it quickly tapered up into high, hysteric laughter that felt wrong in his own ears. Billy's nerve endings were on fire, bright and white-electric, yet at the same time he was unspeakably _cold_. All over, he was _cold,_ he was so cold, he was so cold, yet it felt so _wonderful_–

Above him, Alex was talking.

" – in the kitchen, first, and you were trying so hard to get my attention that I couldn't _not_ notice," she said, matter-of-factly, leaning over to trap Billy in a cage of her wiry arms. "I usually don't take kids from the shelter, see, but I didn't know if you were coming back to the kitchen the next day. So why not? I told you where to find me."

Billy tried to listen, was trying to listen; but, he kept getting distracted by small details, things he had never known were important until that very moment. Heart thrumming, his eyes caught on Alex's loose strands of red hair, which hung down lank around her face in greasy wisps. Billy stared up at them with blown, wide pupils and felt suddenly overpowered by the urge to reach out and touch the copper strands, to press the individual pieces of hair between his fingers.

He wasn't screaming anymore – even if the omnipresent terror was still bubbling in his veins like many scuttling spiders.

He tried to speak.

"Kn...Knew, not length almost kitchen the link," Billy stammered, voice rasping. His tongue felt foreign and hard in his mouth. He blinked, dilated eyes widening as he registered the jumbled nonsense of his own words. "Agreed...for, listening...r-remembered, _remembered_ get attention law knew _started!_"

Alex smiled over him, complacently, like someone with a secret.

Twitching beneath her, Billy's limbs jerked as he struggled and gasped for air, lungs full of ice and pounding energy. He found himself unable to look away from the thin scars around Alex's mouth that crisscrossed over the skin of her lower face. With a supreme effort, Billy finally wrenched his eyes closed and let out a high, keening cry of terror, wrapping his arms around himself to stave off the shuddering fear and cold.

"B-Better replied it, windows of a minute," he sobbed weakly.

"That'll be the drug, Junior," Alex said from far away, her voice detached and perhaps the slightest bit amused. "It's a weird one, has a lot of little side effects, depending on the person. The brain does funny things when you tamper with it – that doesn't just mean your arms and legs. You know what they say..." Billy felt the cold-hot touch of fingers pressing lightly to the hypersensitive skin on his forehead, her hand brushing away the sweat-soaked hair from his face. "Kids say the _darndest _things."

"R-Red, allowance had wrong in it," Billy moaned, his body wracking with heavy sobs. This was a nightmare, the worst nightmare, even with the chemical rush in his veins trying so hard to tell him otherwise. "Calling watch for those pressed, raising his common. Running _paid. _Running, paid..."

"Don't be like that, Billy," Alex said lightly, continuing to card her fingers through his hair. Despite everything, the touch felt good, felt incredible on his skin, better than anything, and Billy hated himself for it. "Remember, you were looking for someone to find you. Isn't that right? And we're going to have a wonderful time here, you and I – before I **cut you apart** like the others."

Billy opened his eyes and began to pray.


	12. Nightmare, Part IV

a/n: this chapter probably makes me a bad person. officially, I mean.

if it makes you feel any better, DC Comics Alex Merkel (aka Junior) is about 20 times more horrifying than the one I wrote in my story.

wait, you say that doesn't make you feel any better? well, I tried.

as always, constructive criticism is much appreciated!

* * *

The night was a long one. Whatever her threats, Alex didn't seem in any hurry to rend Billy limb from limb, and there was nothing he could do but wait for the drug's effects to wear off so he could transform. He twitched occasionally, trying to fight delirium, while Alex spoke to him calmly for hours and hours about everything and nothing.

"...I know you wonder why I do this. I can see it in your eyes," she said conversationally, shortly after the cheap clock on the wall eked its hands past midnight. "I see you looking at me. Judging me. But, we all have something dark inside us, Billy."

As always, there was nothing he could say in response. Almost nothing, anyway. "Higher depend," he answered dully, his body feeling detached and leaden all over. "Heard say boy _careful_ didn't mean difficult fault, changed him always."

It was the Blue Ice, still. The high energy from the drug seemed to be wearing off at last, for which Billy knew he ought to be grateful, but that hadn't yet unscrambled his tongue from the nonsense he'd been speaking since the injection. Even though he had tried saying the wizard's name what felt like a thousand times tonight, he hadn't yet managed anything beyond scattered gibberish. Billy didn't know how long it would take before he could speak normally again. He tried hard not to wonder if it might be permanent.

On the surface, his situation certainly seemed hopeless. He wasn't about to give up on his chances, though. He told himself adamantly that he was only biding his time for a little while – he just had to wait for an opportunity when he could give Alex the slip and escape.

Despite those comforting thoughts keeping his panic at bay, worry prickled constantly at the back of his mind. Billy's body felt so heavy right now that he wasn't sure his legs would support him if he found himself needing to run. His entire body felt weak.

_I can't give up,_ he reminded himself wearily. _Everyone's counting on me. If I let Alex kill me now, she'll only end up killing another kid tomorrow, and then another one the day after that. I don't need _that_ much__ luck to get through this alive. Just one good turn – and then Cap'll take over, no sweat! _

_Something good has to happen eventually. Right? _

Reluctantly, Billy came back to himself, sensing danger. Alex was slowly, deliberately looking down at him, her blue eyes piercing. Billy's insides went cold.

"It _is_ true," she said, deliberately, as though he'd said something meaningful to her ramblings. "You'll see, Junior. They all see, in the end."

Suddenly she smiled. Before Billy could react, Alex had pulled him up from the floor by his shoulders, just enough so that his head was resting gently in her lap. She was strong enough to maneuver Billy's limp frame as easily a rag doll, and Billy had to fight down a surge of artificial, chemical affection rising up in his chest from the physical contact. The drug, among other things, made him crave _touch, _both to soothe his thrumming nerves and stave off the terrible cold lingering in his skin.

Stroking Billy's hair absentmindedly, Alex spoke again: "Try to see it from a my perspective, Billy. Those children I killed, they were living in hell. They would only have suffered an uglier fate down the line, if I hadn't gotten to them first. At least this way, they got to feel something nice before the end. They got to have some real fun."

She smiled eerily down at him, the scars on her face visible in the dim light. "But of course, I don't do this out of the goodness of my heart. There's no goodness left in the likes me. Or in anyone else. Did you know I _enjoy_ making them suffer? Suffer the way I did? Did you know that they all begged me to spare them before they died, begged me to take some other child instead? Any other child, in fact! They were all willing to sacrifice their closest friends, to save themselves the pain and the fear."

Billy shuddered, revolted. Alex grinned wider, showing yellowing teeth.

"And you will, too, Billy," she said. "I can guarantee that."

Billy scowled up at her. An unexpected anger was building up slowly inside him. It wasn't bad enough, that she'd mutilated those kids, and murdered them in cold blood for no reason? She'd had to manipulate their minds, too, like they were her broken toys? How _dare _she...!

"Make it connection, surprise only worked!" Billy snarled at her, finding the strength again to thrash against her hold. He tried in vain to pull himself free, to get _away_. "Promise sealed! New had happen, UNABLE then!"

Alex kept smiling, her teeth glittering pale like her scars.

"Don't like it? Well, I say it's better this way," she said with eerie calm. "It's always better when things are ugly."

She gripped Billy firmly by the shoulders, forcing him to lie still, and leaned down over him so that their faces were frighteningly close.

"It's better to have the awful truth on the outside, right where everyone can see it," she whispered. "That's why..."

She brought a hand up to her own mouth, lightly grazing one of the wider scars with her fingertips. "...I did _this _to myself, as soon as I was finally old enough to play with Daddy's knives."

Frightened and revolted, Billy's anger fled him at once. He felt as though his insides had turned to ice – and this time, it wasn't from the drug. She was sick. This whole thing was sick.

"Above...Above be would at so going heard_?_" he asked, numbly.

Alex nodded, her smile fading. "That's right. To myself," she said quietly, still leaning over him. "I was always my father's favorite, you know. He'd yell at my brother Peter, hurt him and stab him and break his bones. But Daddy never laid a hand on me."

Alex laughed breathlessly, unconsciously tightening her grip on Billy's hair. "He always said he didn't want to bruise my _lovely face,_" she breathed, her expression going distant. "Said I was too pretty. So pretty. His little angel."

Billy had to bite down to keep from crying out, but Alex didn't seem to notice, continuing her story as though in a daze.

"But, I hated it," she said. "Hated that he only loved me for my beauty. Especially when beauty was such a meaningless thing, in our family, everywhere. After all, Daddy was so **ugly** inside, just like me. And Peter, too." She laughed again, closing her eyes. "I was strong, and smart, but because I was pretty, they never knew all the incredible things I could do. That is, until I started committing crimes of my own, crimes more terrible than either of them had ever dreamed of. Nobody will ever mistake me for beautiful ever again."

She opened her eyes again, looking down at him. "I've taped them, you know," she said tonelessly, her face utterly blank. "Every murder. All those children's screams..."

And Billy trembled, staring up at Alex in abject horror, because even without words there was nothing he could possibly say. Nothing to convey the sickness of this woman, the horror of what she had done, and would do, and wasn't sorry for.

"Don't look at me like that," Alex said suddenly; softly, dangerously. "Don't _look _at me like that!"

Trembling, Billy tried to glance away, to shift his head so he was staring at the stained plaster wall behind them – but Alex grabbed his face, turning it so that their eyes were locked together: his petrified, hers, intensely angry.

"I said don't _look_ at me like that!" she repeated, her mouth twisting into an ugly grimace. She seized a fistful of Billy's hair and jerked his head up toward her. "Judgmental little monster! You're not better than the others, Billy, you're not better than me! You're worse, you're so much worse. Trying to hard to be _pretty,_ putting on make-up in the bathroom at the shelter when you didn't think the rest of us could see it."

She shook him roughly by his hair, and she didn't stop when he screamed in pain.

"The others didn't try to make themselves beautiful, Billy," she snarled. "I'll make _you _so ugly that your own mother wouldn't recognize you – and if she's alive, I'll find her, and kill her, too!"

Billy cried out, trying to force his freezing limbs into action, but Alex held fast, her gaze rage-filled and completely devoid of sympathy. She leaned in toward him and hissed, savagely, "I'll make you _feel_ it, Junior. You won't die quickly like the others. You'll pay the price in agony."

Billy shrieked incoherently, trying to claw at her face, but Alex didn't react. She only scowled as his nails gouged deep, tearing at the skin around her eyes. She threw him forcefully to the ground and kicked him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and while Billy was down stunned she grabbed another loaded syringe of Blue Ice off the nearby coffee table.

"Let's try this again," she snarled, grabbing his arm.

Billy tried to move, but she held him fast and jabbed the needle into his arm with bruising force. She held him effortlessly in place while she depressed the plunger, filling his blood with another dose of the terrible drug.

"Maybe when you're feeling a little better, you'll learn to keep your eyes to yourself," she seethed at him, yanking the empty syringe back out again and tossing it aside.

"Lasted, and their of meant!" Billy screamed, scrambling back with a burst of energy afforded by sheer _adrenaline_. One word to save himself – he just needed _one word! _"High neat! High neat HALF TO WHAT!"

It wasn't enough. Alex strode toward him and bodily hauled him up like a doll, carrying Billy kicking and screaming back toward the wooden crate resting at the opposite end of the room.

"'Sorry' won't help you now," she growled, giving as much heed to his struggles as a wolf might a dying rabbit. She opened the crate and forcibly pushed Billy down into it, twisting his thrashing arms and legs like one might bend paperclips to fit him in the cramped space. Alex gave him one last, ugly look as she held his writhing frame in place.

"We'll see if you're ready to start behaving in the morning, okay, Junior?" she asked softly.

"Itself effect!" Billy screamed, begging, but she slammed the lid closed over his head without another word.

Billy fought in vain to push out against the walls of the crate, thrashing by inches, but it was hopeless. His limbs were so tightly boxed in that he couldn't move more than a few centimeters in any direction. After a few moments of fruitless struggling, the crate suddenly shook with a loud BANG from the lid – Alex was stacking furniture on top to trap him inside.

In this moment of renewed terror, Billy belatedly felt the drug kick in full-force, compounding the rush of adrenaline racing through his veins. His breath hitched, heart beating dangerously fast, and his blood plunged into a cold, relentless fervor, _lightning-ice-fire-__**pulse **_with nowhere to go.

Billy screamed, sweating heavily and thrashing uselessly against the sides of the crate, desperate to get free, to escape. Every chemical impulse in his brain was demanding that he _move;_ the stress of total immobility combined with pressing darkness and terror pushed Billy beyond the realm of panic into absolute, uncontrolled hysteria.

In the state Billy was in, being crammed into such a confined space was the greatest torture imaginable. There was no rush of pleasure this time from the Blue Ice: only fear.

Billy was ten. Ten, and frightened, hyped on a drug that wrought havoc on his nerves and tore his emotional stability to shreds. He broke. He wailed and cried and begged for mercy in gibberish words, sealed in the oppressive darkness of the crate. Raw screams tore themselves from his throat, until it hurt too much to make any sounds at all.

And Alex didn't come back.


	13. Intermission II

a/n: here's a nice breather before the...well, I'll leave that unsaid for now.

* * *

Saturday dawned cold, unbearably cold, and the sky over Blüdhaven was clear.

Inside the walls of the sleepy shelter, Batman stared in silence down at the empty bed, at the floor beside it – the scuffed shoes, the discarded backpack. Billy Batson of Fawcett City was gone.

Behind the Dark Knight, Kid Flash trembled in fear and disbelief, shock written all over his face. "But he wasn't – he didn't _call,_" Wally said numbly. "He never sent an alert!"

Batman reached down to pick up a fallen piece of plastic from the ground. "His communicator," he said, simply.

Wally's breath hitched. "This is my fault," he started, already beginning to panic, but Batman held up a hand to cut him off.

"No, it isn't," he said quietly. "And there isn't time for that now. We need to get back to the Cave."

Kid Flash swallowed and nodded, shelving his guilt and panic to follow Batman out.

—

Artemis's eyes were wide with shock and worry. "You lost him?" she asked, horrified.

"It's not like that!" Wally protested, even though he didn't believe it. "I was only – "

"_All Team members. Report immediately for mission briefing_," cut Batman's voice through the conversation, audibly tense over the speakers. "_No delays. We are operating on a ticking clock._"

—

A surprising number of League members showed up for the meeting that followed, despite the earliness of the hour. Batman gave a very brief statement to them about what had transpired the night before, then sent Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian ahead to scout the areas closest to the shelter telepathically.

Before leaving, M'gann took a moment to reassure Wally through the mind-link. _It wasn't your fault._ _There was nothing you could have done, _she said with heartfelt sympathy.

Wally forced a smile in her direction, but he didn't believe her. He'd save the guilt for later, though, when there was time.

—

Batman had several maps of Blüdhaven pulled up on the holo-projector, and was assigning groups to patrol through certain areas based on crime rates and population demographics. The first streets to be searched were those nearest to the shelter, and the others worked out from there, spreading mazelike throughout the rest of the city.

"Couldn't you just use magic to find him?" Robin whispered to Zatanna, the two of them standing a ways apart from the others at the back of the group.

Zatanna turned away from him to stare at the ground, shamefaced. "I'm, I'm really sorry, Robin," she stammered, sounding miserable. "I wish I could, more than anything I wish I could – but for long-distance spells, things I can't actually see, I can only use my magic to locate other sources of magic. Zatara _might _have been able to do it, but I...I just..."

Robin placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, nodding in understanding. Wordlessly they waited together for their assignment.

—

"You won't help us?" Black Canary asked in livid disbelief, taking an aggressive step forward. There was a time for calmness, for rational debate; but there was also a time for _anger,_ and Dinah knew instinctively that she had found it. "A ten-year-old's _life _hangs in the balance, Nabu, quite possibly trapped at the mercy of a serial killer – and the high-and-mighty Lord of Order himself won't help us?"

Doctor Fate stared her evenly down. "It is not my place," he said.

"Your place is with the Justice League!" Dinah shouted, furious. "Our existence isn't just a matter of global welfare! We work to defend the weak, the helpless, and we always look after our own! One of your fellow heroes might die before the sun sets tonight, Nabu – if he isn't already dead – and without our help, Billy doesn't stand a chance at making it out of this alive. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

He did not flinch at the accusations. "Intervening on Captain Marvel's behalf would be overstepping my boundaries," Nabu said, staring out at Black Canary with Zatara's cold green eyes. "A Lord of Order I may be, this is true – but some magic in our world operates on a scale of power far beyond even my own. I do not dare not interfere."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Dinah demanded, even as Fate turned his back on her and began to walk away.

At her words, Fate paused, if only for a moment.

"If it were any other mortal in peril, any other human, I would not hesitate to act," Nabu said, calmly. "But the hand of power over William Batson is absolute. I shall not test my place in the universe over the life of a mere child."

"He is _not_ just a child!" Dinah called after him, outraged, but Doctor Fate didn't stop again.


End file.
